


No Pleasure in Rebellion

by Roving_Bohemian



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Gen, More tags later, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8600320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roving_Bohemian/pseuds/Roving_Bohemian
Summary: Not beta'd, first fic here, most likely will be very edited soon.





	

"Come in, this is Captain Rogers, do you read me?"

Finally, some communication.

"Captain Rogers, what is your lo-," The officer in charge tries to respond. Peggy finds this unacceptable, and moves him.

"Steve, is that you, are you alright?"

"Peggy, Schmidt's dead." His voice sounds tired, but alive, thank god.

"What about the plane?" 

"...That's a little bit tougher to explain."

"Give me your coordinates, I'll find you a safe landing site." Her thoughts are racing, but settling into a peace. He will be home soon.

"There's not gonna be a safe landing...but I can try to force it down..." _The hell you will!_

"I-I'll get Howard on the line, he'll know what to do." _Howard, bastard that he is, can fix anything._

"There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast, and it's heading for New York...I gotta put her in the water."

"Please, don't do this w-we have time, we can work it out."

"Right now, I'm in the middle of nowhere, if I wait any longer, a lot of people are gonna die." _Always the soldier, always thinking of the greater good._

"Peggy...this is my choice." _No._

"Peggy-" _No._

"I'm here." _No. And, yet, yes. I'm always here, always for you._

"I'm gonna need a raincheck on that dance." _I hate this man._

"Alright...a week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club..." _I lov-_ She forces herself to keep her calm for Steve, only and always for Steve.

"You got it."

"8 o' clock on the dot, don't you dare be late...Understood?" _Just keep him talking, maybe something will-maybe..._

"Y'know I still don't know how to dance." Her heart twists in a way feels unnatural.

"I'll show you how, just be there." And, somehow, out of some kind of self-hatred, she allows herself to believe that he _will_ be there. If anyone could do it...

"We'll have the band play somethin' slow, I'd hate to step on your--"

No.

"Steve?"

"Steve?" She chokes. He will come back.

"Steve?" He isn't coming back.

******

The next morning she slams into consciousness, because who can wake peacefully after calmly making a date with their soon-to-be-dead lover? Who can bear the burden of knowing that the world has lost it's bravest, kindest, wisest human? The rest of the world sleeps on. They don't know. She doesn't want to know.

Peggy Carter grew up in a man's world. Expectations for a young girl, every young girl, were very low. One box fits all. If a young woman wanted to see the world, she should read and then have so many babies that she no longer has the energy to desire such things. If she has ambition? She is to bury this desire. 

Of course, no one spoke of this in plain language. No, it was always subtle, and yet painfully clear. It was said in the push of a mother's hand on her daughter's shoulder as she turned her away from the globe she had been ogling. A push in the direction of a dull, young man in want of a trophy. It was whispered beneath the words, "That's a man's job." As if she were too breakable, too fragile to bear any burden, except for children. It was screamed in Peggy's face with every kitchenette toy or pastel colored apron she received from relatives each year. 

Peggy Carter made a decision at age 14. It was a particularly sunny day. Peggy remembers this, because the glare hit her eyes as she chinned the boy twice her size, and two levels ahead of her, who had dared to lay his hands on a young girl not receiving his attentions favorably. As the blood from his nose spurted over her hand, she made the decision to become the protector of every woman who dared to dream, and who dared to say no. She became a protector of her own ambitions. Two years later, she enrolled in the military academy.

She saw the vulgarity and stubbornness and hypocrisy of men every day. She never thought of marriage. Until she did. Steve Rogers. 100 pounds soaking wet, who would sacrifice himself without a moments hesitation for the greater good. The greater good. Looking back on her memory of his small body curling around the dead grenade, it hits her that she should have seen this eventuality.

Love is blind. 

Love. Is. Blind. 

She never had thought of marriage. 

Until she did.

******

Waking the second time is more painful than the first. 

She wanders into the compound courtyard, without knowing the way. It is empty. She doesn't know if she is grateful for the silence of the landscape, or if she is praying for a distraction.

She staggers along the walkway, hoping for an answer. Hoping for a spark. When she doesn't find it, she clings to the brick wall of the circular building. There is only silence. There is only silence when the world has lost it's best man. And the world doesn't know. In the silence.

"It'll be alright, love." The voice of a stranger, English, Cockney dialect. She spins him around, and plants his face firmly into the wall. The lanky idiot man continues on as if nothing of note has happened, his voice comically muffled.

"Well, I say alright, that's a lie. You'll learn that though, the Doctor lies. Except when I don't. So, here is a not lie, or is it, doesn't matter. Not a lie: It won't be okay, it will hurt, but you will make it through, and if you let me, I will show you why." 

"What are you going on about, who are you, and how did you get in here?"

"I am a man, for the time being, which is currently a slight problem for you, trust issues and all. But! Here's your firearm, if you hold it and let me turn around and explain myself, you might feel much better." 

Peggy looks down incredulously at the mans arm that is wrenched behind his back holding her gun. She hadn't noticed, how had she not noticed?! She carefully grabs the sidearm, and steps back three paces, abruptly. The man, all arms and legs, turns around slowly, perhaps not quite an idiot. 

He straightens a very red bow-tie before he speaks. 

"Peggy Carter. Steve Rogers is alive, and I'm going to prove it with my normal-sized blue box. Not a euphemism. It could be? No, that's weird, not a euphem-"

It's difficult to continue speaking when you've been clocked by the best arm in the current British forces.


End file.
